


Once Upon a Time There Was an Elf

by clearbluewater



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Dwelf, Kid Fic, M/M, No mpreg, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:50:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1412203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearbluewater/pseuds/clearbluewater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas tells a story to his and Gimli's son to help him go to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time There Was an Elf

**Author's Note:**

> ~~This was a prompt from someone on Tumblr that I lost, so I have no idea who originally prompted me or the exact wording of it, but it was the one with the guy with the flowers in his braids and a beard. Can anyone help me out?~~
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> Okay, [here's](http://you-comfort-me.tumblr.com/post/74225409391/fic-request) the prompt! Thank you, flyingonthefriendship! However, the original prompter seems to have left tumblr. Figures as soon I get it done the person who requested it would leave. =.= Man, I totally forgot about the girl child part. Need to keep better track of prompts.

            “Ada! Ada! Get up! Ada!” Little hands were pushing Legolas’s back, trying to get him up. Legolas groaned and nestled closer to Gimli.

            “Yours,” Legolas told his husband.

            “Yours,” Gimli countered.

            “No, he definitely gets it from you,” Legolas said. “Only a dwarf would want to get up before the sun. _Ion nîn_ , you cannot practice archery when the sun is not up.”

            “We can take torches out,” Erthad said stubbornly.

            “Yours,” Legolas reiterated.

            “You _could_ take torches out,” Gimli said. Legolas smacked him.

            “Yes, yes! Please Ada!” Erthad cried.

            “No. We will wait for the sun,” Legolas said firmly.

            Erthad gave Legolas a big eyed look. His dark hair was fashioned into clumsy braids, and Legolas realized that he must have done them himself. In fact, Erthad was fully dressed and ready to go, quiver slung on his back and bow in one hand.

            Legolas sighed and motioned for Erthad to get up on the bed. “Let me do your hair.”

            “But I already did it!” Erthad said, his hands flying to his braids in childish defense of his handiwork. “And it’s right and everything! Isn’t it, Adad?” Erthad pleaded.

            Gimli rolled over with a grunt to check his son’s braids. So they were supposed to be of the dwarvish sort. Legolas hadn’t been able to tell, and he was glad that Erthad had said something or he would have rebraided them the elvish way.

            Gimli wordlessly inspected Erthad’s braids. He motioned for Erthad to sit down and for Legolas to fetch the brush on their bedside table. Erthad sat down on his father’s lap with a pout. Legolas handed Gimli the brush, and Gimli set to work.

            Legolas leaned back into bed and watched his love and their son. Gimli’s thick, skilled fingers combed through Erthad’s dark hair, and Legolas was reminded of the time Gimli first held their son.

            “He’s a bit big, isn’t he?” Gimli had said, bouncing the infant Erthad gently. Erthad made a little noise and flailed his arms.

            “I was just thinking that he’s a bit small,” Legolas had said, kneeling to be at eye level with Gimli and Erthad. He looked up at Gimli and saw the same expression of utter love and wonderment on his face that was surely on Legolas’s.

            “We have a _baby_ ,” Legolas marveled.

            “Aye. We have been blessed so greatly,” Gimli said, his voice breaking. Legolas gently nuzzled Gimli’s face as he stroked Erthad’s downy hair. Legolas could feel tears of happiness prick his closed eyes.

            “Yes. Yes we have.”

            Legolas felt those same pricks of emotion even now, awakened at some unfortunate hour by an overeager and now pouting Erthad. Gimli had given the beads that had been in Erthad’s hair to him to hold as he used both hands to try and tame Erthad’s hair. Erthad was rolling them about in his palm, dangerously close to letting them fall, probably never to be seen again.

            “Keep your beads still,” Legolas reprimanded. Erthad looked at him sullenly, but closed his hand around his hair ornaments. “Think of how upset your grandfathers would be if you lost them,” Legolas said. Erthad looked a little abashed at that.

            Legolas had no doubt that they had cost a pretty penny. Glóin had given Erthad many sets of beads for his braids, some of which Legolas knew were made of gold and silver and gemstones. Thranduil, not be outdone, had given Erthad other hair ornaments in the shapes of the flowers that grew only in Mirkwood, since he was concerned with Erthad growing up underground in Aglarond. Legolas had refrained from pointing out that Thranduil’s palace was also a cave and he had apparently raised Legolas just fine. Erthad was wearing some of them now, three clasps decorated with dainty white flowers that Gimli was weaving into the top of a the main braid that went down Erthad’s back, similar to the one that Gimli wove into Legolas’s hair.

            “Are you done yet?” Erthad asked.

            “Not yet,” Gimli grunted.

            “So impatient, _ion nîn_. Surely you would not want to disgrace your grandfathers’ gifts?”

            “No,” Erthad admitted. He made an extra effort to stay still.

            When Gimli finished Erthad’s braids, Erthad bounced off the bed and dashed out of the bedroom.

            “Breakfast first!” Legolas called.

            “Ada!” Erthad cried in frustration.

            “Breakfast,” Legolas repeated more firmly. Erthad heaved a massive sigh and stomped his foot. Both of his fathers gave him simultaneous glares, and Erthad shrunk back and walked to the kitchen more quietly.

            Legolas took nothing but some fruit to break his fast, but Erthad had Gimli’s food preferences. He banged his knife and fork on the table, singing to himself, as Gimli fried up some sausages.

            Even though their rooms had windows to allow in the sunlight, it did not cheer Legolas much when the sun had not yet risen. He stared out into the blackness past their windows, not sure to urge the sun to hurry or to take its time.

            “Yay!” Erthad cried when Gimli set down a plate of sausages and eggs in front of him. He dug into it like an animal, and Legolas sighed. There was absolutely no use trying to correct him when his Adad was not much better. Dwarves, Legolas had learned, were short on table manners, and Gimli saw no use in teaching Erthad any. And without Gimli backing him up, and in fact actively opposing him, Erthad steadfastly refused to be taught manners. Both of them knew Legolas’s stance on this, and ignored Legolas’s sighs.

            They all finished at about the same time, and Erthad immediately jumped up and made for his bow. “Is it light enough now Ada? Is it?”

There was just barely enough light to see outside, and if Legolas was shooting alone he wouldn’t consider it. Still, Erthad’s eager face peered up at him.

Gimli had told him that Erthad looked like Legolas when he was like this. Legolas didn’t know if that was true or not, but if so, he could understand why he almost always got his way with Gimli.

            “Yes, we’ll go outside.”

            Erthad whooped and ran out. “Gimli, get a torch,” Legolas said.

            As soon as Legolas left the shelter of Aglarond, the wind whipped against his face. It felt good, but it did not bode well for Erthad’s shooting.

That did not seem to dampen Erthad’s enthusiasm, though. He was skipping around while he waited for Legolas to set up the targets. Such enthusiasm! His father had told Legolas that he had been like that once. Legolas didn’t really recall it, but when Thranduil had first given Erthad his little bow and had taken him out to shoot it, there was the softness of memory in his eyes.

            “You were much the same at that age,” Thranduil had said. There was a long melancholy to Thranduil’s voice. He and Legolas were standing a little ways behind Erthad, watching him attempt to shoot at some targets hanging in trees. His chattering to himself and cries of pleasure and displeasure had become as normal to Legolas’s ears as the song of the birds.

            “Was I?”

            Thranduil didn’t answer for a while. There was a shriek of happiness from Erthad as he hit a target.

“Well done!” Legolas called.

            “He does remind me very much of you as a young child. There are some things, however…”

            “That are all Gimli,” Legolas said. Old irritation at his father’s disapproval of his husband came to the fore again. Thranduil inclined his head in that way of his.

            “Ada! Ada! Daerada! Did you see that?” Erthad asked, running up to them.

            “Yes, you are doing very well Erthad,” Legolas said.

            Erthad was not doing so well right now. The wind had picked up, blowing his arrows off course and nearly extinguishing the torch. Gimli already had to relight it twice. Even Legolas wouldn’t relish shooting in this weather. A storm was coming in and would probably arrive in the afternoon. Erthad was starting to get frustrated.

            “You have to judge the wind and take it into account now Erthad,” Legolas said, bending to adjust the angle of Erthad’s bow.

            “But the wind keeps changing!”

            “Yes, the wind does that. You have to do the best you can, and change with it.”

            Change with it. Legolas had been doing a lot of that recently. The wind had blown in a new age, a new mate, and a new child. Legolas still didn’t feel like he had a good grip on any of those yet, but he was bending and adjusting his bow and sometimes hitting his target.

            Gimli’s hand settled on the small of Legolas’s back, and Legolas smiled without turning around.

“How long do you think it will take before he gets tired and wants to go in?” Gimli asked.

            “Oh, I don’t know. He was certainly eager enough at the start, but he gets frustrated so quickly. He has very little patience.”

            “Very few of us are born with patience, Legolas. At least us mortals. Are elves born with it, or do they have to learn it like the rest of us? You can be pretty impatient.”

            “I do not know,” Legolas said. “Perhaps it is only with the burden of years that patience comes. And I am only impatient, my love, because I know how little time we have, and we do not know how much time Erthad has.”

            They had never been informed if their child was mortal or immortal. That was a very big thing to overlook, and Legolas cursed Gandalf for it. Perhaps he would be given the choice. Would he make the choice of Arwen? Legolas understood Elrond’s despair now. Even thinking about the possibility while Erthad was a child and ignorant of such love send pangs through Legolas’s heart.

            Erthad’s frustration had reached a peak when the fifth or six arrow had completely missed its mark. Erthad threw down his bow and threw himself on the ground as well.

            “Erthad! Do not treat your bow in such a way!”

            Erthad looked at him, tears forming in his eyes.

            “It’s not working!” he said, his voice thick with tears.

            “Oh, Erthad,” Legolas said. He reached for Erthad. He came into Legolas’s arms easily, wrapping himself around his father. He was getting big. How much longer until Legolas could no longer scoop him up in his arms? He gently rocked Erthad as he sniveled into Legolas’s shoulder.

            Gimli had picked up Erthad’s equipment and was standing near at hand. “Should we head back inside?” he asked Legolas.

            “I think that would be best,” he said, stroking Erthad’s hair.

            Erthad had calmed down considerably by the time they had settled down in the living room. Legolas feared that he would ask to go back out again. If the weather was better and he could control his frustration better, perhaps. But not as things stood now. Erthad was also looking a bit sleepy. He did wake up early, and throwing a fit always took a lot out of him. It would be better for everyone if Erthad took a nap.  

            “Would you like to hear a story?” Legolas asked, hoping to lull him to sleep.

            Erthad nodded his head since his fingers were currently in his mouth. It was a habit Legolas usually discouraged, but it was keeping him quiet for now so he decided to let it slide.

            “Once upon a time, there was an elf. He was a rather mean elf.”

            “Very mean,” Gimli said. He had packed his pipe and was now lighting it.

            “One day, when he was out hunting in the woods, he found a group of dwarves.”

            “Is this going where I think this is going?”

            “Hush, Gimli. Now, the elf found a group of dwarves, and he was mean to them.”

             “ _Very_ mean.”

            “Hush, Gimli!”

            “Hush, Adad! I’m trying to listen to the story.”

            “Listen to your son,” Legolas said. Gimli put his pipe in his mouth to silence himself while Legolas glared at him. “Anyways, the elf was mean to the dwarves. There was one dwarf in particular, who had a locket that had pictures in it.”

            “Like Adad?” Erthad said, pointing to Gimli’s locket that held pictures of Erthad and Legolas.

            “Yes, almost exactly like that,” Legolas said. “It had pictures of the dwarf’s wife and son in it. The elf looked at the pictures, and he thought that they were both very ugly, and the told the dwarf so.”

            “Goblin mutant,” Gimli pronounced.

            “I was getting to that, Gimli. The elf said that the dwarf’s son looked like a goblin mutant.”

            “That _was_ mean,” Erthad said. He had started stroking Legolas’s hair, a sure sign that he was tired.

            “It was mean, and the dwarf was very insulted. But the elf didn’t care. He lived in the woods for years more, until one time his father sent him far away on an errand.”

            “Where did he go?” Erthad asked. His voice was starting to betray his drowsiness.

            “Imladris. And do you know who he met there?”

            “Who?”

            “The baby dwarf from the picture, all grown up.”

            “Was the elf still mean to him?”

            “Unfortunately, yes.”

            “The dwarf was also mean to the elf,” Gimli said, taking his pipe out of his mouth.

            “Yes. They were very mean to each other,” Legolas said.

            “Why?” Erthad asked.

            Legolas sighed. “Sometimes, people hate each other for no good reason. Elves and dwarves don’t really like each other, but that is no good excuse for hating someone you have never met. Anyways, the elf and the dwarf both went on a quest together and they killed lots of orcs.”

            “I killed more,” Gimli said.

            “We’ve gone over this, Gimli, I—”

            Gimli gestured to Erthad with his pipe, and Legolas looked down. Their raised voices had revived Erthad, who had been almost asleep.

            “And while they were killing orcs, the elf thought that it would be kind of sad if one of the orcs killed the dwarf instead.”

            “And the dwarf thought that he would sort of miss the elf if he died, because then who would he compare counts with? The man was no good,” Gimli said.

            “Somehow, they became friends. But in one battle, the elf lost the dwarf, and he was very afraid that the dwarf had died,” Legolas said. The unexpected panic and fear was coming back to him in a rush, making his voice crack.

            “But he had not died,” Gimli reassured him.

            “No, he had not died. But he was injured, and it was then that the elf realized that he liked the dwarf a lot more than a friend.” Legolas hadn’t noticed that Erthad was already asleep on his lap. His eyes were only on Gimli.

            “The elf was a little slow, because the dwarf had realized it much earlier,” Gimli said.

            “Well, better late than never,” Legolas said, leaning in towards Gimli. Gimli kissed him.

            When they broke away, Gimli gestured to Erthad. “You should put him to bed.”

            “Will you put yourself to bed by the time I’m finished?” Legolas asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “Yes, but I always welcome company.”

            Legolas laughed quietly and went to put Erthad in bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Erthad means "union" in Elvish. I thought it kind of fit.


End file.
